The Broken Tool
by Elladoralestrange
Summary: In his eternal dark night, he wept. For her, for them, for the hands of time. He wept for the futility of his sadness. He wept for having to remember it all over again. Itachi/female Shisui
It's not very often that he thinks about her, but when he does he can't help but become lost in the juncture. He thinks of her as an era: something that is defined as a memorable or important date or event, especially: one that begins a new period in the history of a person or thing.

That long ago night started out with despair and hopelessness and ended in sweet surrender. Thus was his time with her: an era that was achingly memorable and deeply trenched in need. He came to need her like no other and craved her more than Chakra itself. She had looked at him then, with a mixture of defiance, honesty, vulnerability, and an undercurrent of desire. It was a look that had set him aflame, that destroyed his soul and then brought it back to life again. It made him want more than just power. It made him want her.

They'd tried it out for a while, early on—almost killed each other in the trying. The only time they hadn't spent fighting was the time they'd spent kissing. And when they'd kissed, half the time it'd been hot and angry—games, dominance, her nipping down on his lip until he jerked away and swore, licking away the blood. The air burned and diffused around them, crackling like the electricity that ran beneath both of their fingertips. They merged together, a web of skin and breath, and the quiet spreads over them like hungry spiders, devouring every intention they have to speak. Breaking the frail silence that separates them from the rush of humanity until she either moaned and he pushed her away, smirking—or she slammed her fist into his chest and told him to get the bloody hell away from her.There had been an indomitable fire inside that tiny slip of a woman that burned as passionately as the sun.

Sure, they'd always had electricity between them—nothing subtle, that tension, that _heat._ So obvious that even _he'd_ recognized it. Their fate had been written in those unreachable diamonds hanging in the sky; they were destined for each other. Since he knew her, she had always shifted and transformed in his mind. She had no stable form. She was something he hated and something he loved. Something he despised and admired. She was pathetically weak and invincible. She was everything he was not.

Since before the time in which Earth was but a fetus in the womb of the universe, two opposing forces had sought supremacy; good versus evil. It was easier to tarnish white cloth than to whiten dark fabric. She had been an exquisite apple that was appetizing but no less immune to rotting than any other. Every soul was fallen and capable of innumerable atrocities. It was just a matter of cultivation, of preservation and most importantly, manipulation. Her flash of curiosity had tainted her innocence.

His desperation for her was comparative to a starved man that had spent weeks on end in the cruel desert with no food or water; he not only wanted to _devour_ her, but he also wanted to drown in her. It had been precisely that hunger, that undeniable need in the middle of his soul— a gaping hole that had threatened to take his sanity. He had wanted her. He had wanted to possess her, protect her, keep her for his own. He had since the moment he saw her first at their house, but at the time he had been too insignificant to even consider her wanting him in the same way.

Oh, his precious Shisui. She had been so delicate and fragile floating over the ocean of his emotions. The darkness and unknown beneath the water— his desires— craved to shoot its tentacles up to snarl her into his control. He had ached so badly that the pressure was as intense as the very bottom of the sea. He was alike a mythical creature, waiting to emerge and sink the unsuspecting ship above.

He wasn't sure what he felt for her. It was like electricity, so painful yet so perfect, running through his body with lightning speed, filling him with every emotion possible - pain, ecstasy, hate, love, sorrow, joy - all in one beautiful perfect moment, before rushing out of him with the same quickness it had entered, leaving him begging for more.

Yes, he was sure of that. He wanted more of the electricity. He had wanted more of her. Their time spent together had been like a storm, thunder and lightning coming together, rolling off each other in waves and creating a symphony. He had let his curiosity go unquenched, realizing that, for them, love was like lightning. Beautiful, intense, dangerous, sublime, and awe-inspiring but so fleeting that when it was over he had to wonder if it was real to begin with or just some incredible dream. It would never stay, never last, not for long anyway. But he was pretty sure that he would be willing to chase lightning forever, if it meant he could keep her. He feels like if he could, he'd never resurface, he'd never go back. If he could, he'd live in her forever, as if she was his fortress, and she'd keep him safe. And she would. He knew she would.

And she will always belong to him.

It was a strange form of love, he knew, but no one had ever written a definition of love— no one had ever made an official example to follow. She had been probably the only girl who had ever held a real place in his heart, even if only for a brief moment of time spent together. As far as he knew, his love was far more pure than those who claimed theirs was selfless, only to fall in love with another with the passage of time.

He had not.

He had never stopped loving her, and wanting her, much less with the passage of bitter time. He desired her to a point that he would surrender all of his power if she would genuinely love him— if she would truly vow her life to his. All he had wanted was her affection, her body, her promise of eternity— all he had wanted was her _soul._

Was it too much of him to ask?

But now she was dead. Dead for years, because of _him_. Her ideals. _Their ideals._ In his eternal dark night, he wept. For her, for them, for the hands of time. He wept for the futility of his sadness. He wept for having to remember it all over again.

Shisui.

 **Itachi was Shisui's best friend; in fact, Itachi thought of him as a brother. However, this little idea popped up. The story ended up the same, but simply with a different dimension to it. As for the name Shisui, I am aware that it is a male name, but lets pretend that it is a nickname. I am curious to see what you guys will think of this.**


End file.
